


You Girls'll Never Know (How You Make A Boy Feel)

by blanchtt



Series: Future Starts Slow [2]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: “You’re not very girly,” he says one day as they make their way up the porch steps and into the house, Felix holding an umbrella and relatively dry while Sarah shakes her head, wet locks slapping against skin and showering water everywhere before they step inside. It lacks bite, though, and sounds instead like he’s approving.





	

 

 

 

She’s almost thirteen when she and Lee from maths skip class and meet in the boy’s bathroom. They end up in the handicap stall because it’s the biggest, her back pinned tight in a corner as Lee presses up against her.

 

It’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Lee radiates heat, and his face is scruffy, his cheek scratching hers as they kiss. And it’s vaguely exciting, that Lee is paying attention to her. He’s about the only one who does.

 

The rest of it, though, doesn’t go so well.

 

Lee’s kisses are aimless and slobbering, hard-on pressing against her hip, and Sarah lets a rough hand knead a breast harder than is pleasant, listens detached to Lee’s heavy breathing and wonders if he actually thinks she’s into this and, suddenly, decides _alright – enough of that_.

 

With a grunt Sarah breaks their kiss, shoulders past him, Lee just a year older but bigger, heavier, and then turns on a heel, reaches out and pushes against his shoulders and pins _him_ back against the wall, arches up with a grin for a kiss. And yeah. That’s more like it. Sarah grinds hips up against his, starts a rhythm he hardly participates in, and kisses him, grins as his breath hisses as she bites a lip. They don’t have all the time in the world and there’s really only one end to this scenario, so Sarah slides a hand down, yanks at Lee’s belt.

 

And it’s then that Lee seems to snap out of his stupor, that Lee’s hand slides up her arm, pushes gentle but firm at a shoulder, and _oh hell no._ Sarah jerks away, growls in frustration at Lee’s stupid face and his stupid hard-on and the stupid wall he keeps trying to press her up against.

 

“Jus’ – fucking _don’t_ ,” she warns, and she kicks out, watching in satisfaction as the toe of her ratty sneaker connects with the stall door, as the plastic sheet wobbles with a surprisingly loud bang at the impact. It hurts too, but she ignores it. “Don’t, okay?”

 

“Don’t what?!” Lee says, hands held up in exasperation and clearly annoyed, and Sarah falters, licks her lips in thought but comes up with nothing.

 

_Don’t what?_

The thought of Lee’s touch on her now makes her skin crawl, makes her shoulders roll, and as Lee chuckles, smiles, reaches out, says something like _Sarah come on_ in his stupid confident voice, she spits, “Don’t touch me,” settling on the nearest understandable feeling, and spins around, unlocks the stall door and storms out of the bathroom.

 

Whatever could have started between them goes strained and icy, not that Sarah's complaining, at least until she hears through the grapevine that he’s been a little bitch and started calling her a dyke behind her back. She kicks his ass during lunch, literally, and thanks to a no-tolerance policy it means a new school.

 

She holds out hope that it doesn’t mean a new family, too.

 

 

-

 

 

It does. She knows she’s disappointed her foster mom for sure already, so with her it was only a matter of time. She’s sure the Evanses had an image of a picture-perfect family they'd be able to complete, of the two of them plus a little girl who let them dress her up and play dolls with and got good grades and spent time with them.

 

And instead they’d ended up with her. That realization always seemed to be harder on mothers, and so Sarah stomps up the stairs to her room, blinks hard because she’d expected more which was _stupid_ , had expected maybe for her foster father to get it, but he’d only looked at her like some of the other kids did now, like Lee did.

 

And so Sarah reaches her bedroom, slams the door shut, curls up in bed, and tries to imagine what her next family will be like.

 

 

-

 

 

Mrs. S is one fucking stubborn lady. Sarah thinks she’d almost be impressed if she weren’t so fucking _irritated_.

 

‘No’ is not something she’s used to hearing. ‘What are we going to do with you,’ sure. Plenty of times, in fact. ‘We’re at the end of our rope,’ practically routine. ‘We give up,’ nothing new. They all roll of her back like water. But Mrs. S, standing in front of her tall and solid, arms crossed and frowning as Sarah tries to make her way out the front door, makes her take that _no_ pretty seriously. And she’ll admit it takes her a while to get it through her skull – rules aren’t her strong suit, okay?

 

But she comes to find that Mrs. S’s house, despite a few unbendable rules, are way better than some of her other foster homes, and clearly way better the streets. And, surprisingly, Mrs. S can be a big softie. She goes to school everyday now with a _lunch_ that someone _packed_ , and more often than not finds things like _cookies_ inside as dessert.

 

It almost makes her scared. It’s too good to be true.

 

Her new brother, Felix, seems unperturbed by any such thoughts – and Sarah likes him, likes his sunny optimism and prissy ways. Where she jumps in puddles on the way to school, Felix hangs back, shrieking if she manages to get dirty water on his jeans. “You’re not very _girly_ ,” he says one day as they make their way up the porch steps and into the house, Felix holding an umbrella and relatively dry while Sarah shakes her head, wet locks slapping against skin and showering water everywhere before they step inside. It lacks bite, though, and sounds instead like he’s approving.

 

Felix _is_ boyish – just unusually pretty and demanding– and so Sarah’s surprised when Felix begins to poke around in her closet as they sit in her room together one day, as he pops up with a dress on a hanger that she still hasn’t touched, an intrigued look on his face.

 

Sarah feels a twinge of something, guilt and fear converging to make her stomach hurt because _what if Mrs. S notices she hasn’t worn it_ , and covers it all up with a smirk, looks Felix up and down and says, “Didn’t take you for a crossdresser, Fe.”

 

“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it,” Felix shoots back, and walks over to her mirror, tosses the hanger onto her bed, narrowly missing her, and holds the dress against his body. “I could use this, I’m sure, if you’re not going to wear it,” he murmurs, more to himself, Sarah can tell, than to her. But then he does look over his shoulder, asking with a little shake of the fabric, “What do you think? I’ll do a piece on gender and clothing.”

 

That would probably be a sight to see. Sarah laughs, watches as Felix drapes the dress over the back of her desk’s chair and goes back to her closet. And somehow, with Felix asking if he can borrow this or that, the uneasy feeling in her stomach loosens its hold, just a little.

 

“Whatever,” Sarah agrees, watching Felix. She considers taking the hanger he’d tossed and almost hit her with and throwing it back at him, but with the scar above his eyebrow just healing – that had been an _accident_ , honestly – she thinks better of it, and only reaches out with her foot to nudge the hanger off the bed, letting it clatter to the hardwood floor. “Jus’ as long as _I_ don’t have to wear it.”

 

 

-

 

 

She’s still got blisters on the back of her heels from her new boots, and double-socking is just _not_ working. Sarah limps home from school, trudges up the stairs, and heads to Felix’s room because he’s got better sock than she does – nice thick wool ones, because he’d prepared for the move to somewhere with colder winters much better than she had. They’ve never had any secrets between them, and so Sarah thinks nothing of reaching for the door handle, barging in like she has any other day and asking, “Hey, Fe, can I borrow – ”

 

She’s stopped in her tracks by the stunned, shattering silence that settles over the room in a heartbeat, at the sight of Felix and some boy together on his bed, the boy’s hand clearly down the front of her brother’s _pants_.

 

“Shite. Sorry!” Sarah says quickly, but a laugh bubbles up around it, and she shakes her head in mock judgement as Felix screeches at her to leave, as she steps backwards and shuts the door firmly behind herself, but not before admonishing loudly, “For fuck’s sake, Felix. Learn to lock your door like the rest of us.”

 

Mrs. S is off on one of her highly suspect bar crawls – _she used to blow things up, you know,_ Felix had told her once, _so she’s probably meeting with those people again_ – and so Sarah’s sitting at the table eating dinner when the two of them come slinking down the stairs. “Sarah, this is Tony,” Felix says with a flourish of his hands, previous embarrassment gone as he motions at his guest, and Sarah looks up from her meal, finds a grungy-looking, long-haired boy grinning at her.

 

“Hey,” Sarah says, forcing a straight face to keep from starting to laugh again, and Tony tilts his chin up just a shade, the cocky boy version of a wave.

 

“Hey,” he replies, and that’s really all the thought that Sarah gives Tony as he and Felix grab food and join her at the table, because he’s Felix’s boyfriend and that’s that. She's only a little annoyed that he's already made a friend here, but Felix seems to get along with everyone and so it's no surprise.

 

It’s only a few weeks later, as she’s taking apart her room to find that vest Felix lent her and that he’s now asking for back, that she hears the familiar creak of someone standing in her open doorway, the house’s old hardwood floors giving them away. She looks over her shoulder, finds Tony leaning against the door and grinning. “Hey, sister,” he says cheerfully, and Sarah smiles back distractedly before turning to the pile of clothing in front of her. She fishes in it, certain it’s here somewhere, and is rewarded – Felix’s studded leather vest goes from _location unknown_ to _found_ , and Sarah heaves a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been looking forward to replacing that.

 

She stands, turns, tosses the vest to Tony suddenly, and watches with amusement as he jerks away, the vest dropping to the floor unceremoniously, not even attempting to catch it. “You must have gotten picked first for all the teams,” Sarah jokes, and Tony rolls his eyes, bends down and snatches the best up off the floor as she asks, “You mind giving this back to Felix?”

 

Tony studies the article of clothing, holds it up, and arches a brow. “I know this vest,” he says suspiciously, and Sarah shrugs.

 

“Yeah, it’s Fe’s,” she explains, and points at him for emphasis. “I _borrowed_ it, and now I’m returning it, okay? So you can tell him to get off my back.”

 

Tony thinks, reaches up with a hand and strokes at an imaginary beard that’s not there before he begins to smile, looking much too pleased with himself. “A little advice, sister,” Tony says, the timbre of his voice a shade higher, and Sarah watches in confusion as he holds up the vest again. “Don’t be afraid to go all out – jeans, shoes, hair, the works. I wasn’t.”

 

It takes her a moment to process, but when it does the revelation almost knocks her on her ass, and Sarah lets out a laugh, shakes her head, and breathes incredulously, “ _Bloody_ hell. You’re good.”

 

“Thanks,” Tony shoots back with a grin. “I try. If you want any pointers,” he offers, turning to leave, “just ask.”

 

Like she’d turn down that offer. _Shite_.

 

 

-

 

 

She’d never in a million years thought she’d enjoy shopping. But Felix presses a roll of greasy bills in her hands, cash to _get yourself in order, alright?_ And so the nerves of wandering over from the women’s section to the men’s are smoothed out, twofold in that Tony is there to help her and to deflect questions. Mrs. S lets her buy whatever she wants, and Sarah can own up to the fact that she loves her for that, among other things.

 

But it’s different with Tony. He flirts with the saleslady, distracted, and Sarah only rolls her eyes, shoves shirts aside, reaches for the one she wants. Maybe. “Oi. Loverboy,” she says, and Tony turns back to her, at attention. “Help me pick out a button-up, would you?”

 

“You wanted it a little tight, right?" Tony takes the shirt from her hands, holds it up to her body, and shakes his head, putting it back. He grabs another, and Sarah watches as he reads the label, nods to himself, and hands it to her with a crooked grin. "You’re so lucky you’re flat.”

 

Sarah snorts, takes the shirt and lets Tony start picking more, heaping them into her arms before shoving her towards a vacant dressing room.

 

“Well, that’s a first.”

 

 

-

 

 

Helena is pale and quiet and dresses like a foreign exchange student even though she’s been here for, what, ten years? But she has _awesome_ hair, and sisterhood’s never something that Sarah’s ever given thought to but with Helena’s here she has to admit that it’s pretty cool having another girl in the house.

 

“C’mon, meathead,” Sarah announces as they gear up to head to school, zipping up her own coat and dodging Felix’s elbow as he pulls his own on, all lanky limbs now. “You’re walking with us.”

 

Helena pulls a beanie over her head, the hat doing almost nothing to hold down her curly hair. “I am?” she repeats, and Sarah rolls her eyes.

 

“Yes,” Sarah assures her, and Felix turns, makes a face in the direction of the kitchen.

 

“Mrs. S sure isn’t going to drive us,” he says loudly and pointedly, to which Mrs. S’s reply is only _get moving before you’re late again_.

 

There’s snow on the ground and it’s _cold_ , and Felix’s long legs mean he’s a step and a half ahead of them even if he’s trying to slow down. It leaves her and Helena some time to talk, particularly when Felix pulls out his phone, starts texting, and drops out of their conversation.

 

Helena’s not stupid – and, in fact, Sarah had been a little miffed to find that Helena had guessed about Tony in much less time than she had. “I’ve seen it before, people hiding,” Helena had said, stuffing a piece of toast in her mouth. Sarah had wrinkled her nose, almost laughed at Helena speaking garbled around a mouthful of food. “Last family was very religious. He doesn’t hide. I’m glad he’s happy. And you and Felix, too.”

 

_Well, then._

 

And so they get to school wth a few minutes to spare, milling around because Felix has darted off to find Tony. Sarah looks sideways, watches Helena watch people, thumbs hooked on the straps of her backpack and rocking just a bit on the heels of her cowboy boots. They’re sisters now, so she’s not going to just _leave_ her – but at what point is she being overbearing? And so Sarah sniffs loudly, mirrors Helena’s body, and tries to keep her voice level, casual. No big deal. “You don’t have to stay here with me until the bell rings, you know,” she offers, and Helena looks over at her.

 

“I want to stay here with you,” Helena says simply, and Sarah nods, huffs something like _alright_ , and turns away, but can’t stop that stupid smile she can feel spreading across her face.

 

Sarah catches her later again at lunch, Helena looking a little lost at the immensity of the cafeteria. She gets up, stands, flags her down, and watches Helena join her and Felix and Tony at their table. It’s a little surprising that Helena chooses to sit next to her, plopping her tray down on the table, and Sarah makes room, hip-checks Felix until he scoots over enough to give them room.

 

“How’s your first day?” Tony asks, and Helena picks up her utensils, starts attacking the food with a voracity that never fails to astound Sarah.

 

“Good,” is really all they get out of her.

 

The next day it’s the same thing, though as Helena sits next to her Helena taps her hand, catches Sarah’s attention and pulls her away from the conversation Tony and Felix are having. “I have a friend,” Helena says with a smile, and all Sarah understands is Alison Something, because Helena butchers her last name. It’s a good thing, though, and Sarah smiles, squeezes Helena’s hand.

 

“Good for you, meathead,” she says, and means it.

 

A moment passes before Helena slips her hand away, fingers drumming almost nervously on the table before she catches her eye again, asking, “May we sit with you tomorrow?”

 

Sarah frowns instantly, not sure what part of that bothers her most, and reaches out, claps Helena on the shoulder and says, slow so there's no mistaking it, “You don’t have to _ask_ , Helena. I’d love to meet your friend.”

 

Helena’s friend turns out to be Alison Hendrix, home ec queen, which, of _fucking_ course. But Sarah fakes a smile the next day, slides over so that there’s room for Helena next to her, and listens to Alison and Helena talk about a bake sale Alison's planning for the rest of the lunch period.

 

 

-

 

 

It doesn’t happen every day, but there are nights where her room is too dark, too quiet to fall asleep in. Sarah rolls out of bed, tugs Felix’s oversized shirt she's wearing down into a more comfortable position, and pads over to her door.

 

She slips into Helena’s room, her bed, sees in the dim light that Helena’s stolen her favorite Clash t-shirt to sleep in, and thinks, _ah, that’s where it went_ , just like her boots and her good necklace and her eyeshadow palette.

 

“Can’t sleep?” Helena asks around a yawn, moving over to make room for her, and as much as she loves Mrs. S, as much as she loves Felix, this isn’t something she can do with them. It’s stupid and juvenile, but Sarah reaches out, clasps Helena’s hand, and after a moment feels her sister thread their fingers together. Helena’s hands are surprisingly soft, palms smooth and warm, and Sarah feels her thoughts slow down to a manageable speed, her shoulders lose their rigid tension, her body unwind and relax.

 

“G’night, Helena,” Sarah whispers, and feels Helena nudge her shin on accident, the blankets shifting as Helena gets comfortable in the space they share.

 

“Goodnight, _sestra_.”

 

-

 

 

She’s failing algebra and _someone_ must have called home, because Mrs. S arranges with the school to have her go to the library and apparently waste twenty minutes waiting for some nerd that’s probably not even going to show up. Sarah holds onto the table, leans back in her chair and tilts until the front feet of it lift off the floor, balancing on the back two and timing herself. She’s gotten the reputation as un-tutor-able, so this is just going to be a pain in the ass for them both. Sarah frowns, lets go of the table, just to see if she can do it, and it’s how she almost falls flat on her ass as someone grabs the chair next to her, throws things down on the table and sits down abruptly.

 

“Sarah, right?” the girl asks, loud for someone who’s in the library, and after a moment where the chair wavers, where her heart seems to skip a sick, cold beat, Sarah jerks forward and plants all four feet of the chair back down on the floor with a _thunk_ , finds a girl with glasses and dreds and rocking some intense eyeliner smiling at her. “Sorry I’m late. I’m Cosima,” the girl adds, and points at Sarah. “Sick jacket, by the way.”

 

It takes her a moment to process, because where has this extremely hard to miss girl been _hiding_ since she’s come to Toronto, and all Sarah can say is, “Excuse me?”

 

The girl – Cosima, apparently – only smiles, unfazed. “I like it,” she repeats with a laugh.

 

And even though all she can manage to say dumbly is _thanks_ , Sarah does manage to smile back, to watch and gauge and realize, yeah, Cosima means it. It’s rare to get a compliment, let alone a sincere one. She’s long gotten over it, and so it’s a surprise when it happens. And it’s one Sarah’s quite pleased with, given that the jacket had been one she’d found in a second-hand shop, real leather and just the right look to it, despite the men’s cut.

 

And, hell, she must be staring at Cosima hardcore which usually goes over quite terribly with girls. But Cosima’s smile grows, and she looks suddenly away, reaches for her bag and starts to pull out supplies as she asks, looking back at Sarah periodically, “Um, so. Your mom said you’re having trouble with algebra?”

 

“Yeah,” Sarah agrees, and reaches for her own backpack, brings out her battered book and lays it flat on the table, opening up to the last page she’d remembered being assigned. That was probably seven assignments ago, but hey, A for effort, right?

 

“Okay.” Cosima leans on her elbows, chin propped on a fist, and cranes for a better look, eyes narrowed in a squint. Sarah reaches out, fingertips just brushing the book and ready to push it closer to her when Cosima beats her to the punch – sort of. Cosima makes an annoyed little noise, nose scrunching in frustration, and she shifts, brings her chair closer and settles next to her, her shoulder a hairsbreadth from touching Sarah’s own.

 

Sarah swallows, goes still, and runs through her options. She can move away which is not ideal, because Cosima is pretty and nice and smart and totally out of her league, or stand still and let Cosima be the one to realize, to find herself too close, and to move away. She goes with Choice B, and surprisingly Cosima doesn’t move away, either, only mutters, " _Okay_ ," managing to draw the word out to several syllables as she picks up a pen, taps at the page in thought. “So you’re on the quadratic formula. Sweet.” Cosima looks sideways, meets her eyes, and asks, “Do you know where to start?”

 

Somehow, despite Cosima having a grade point average Sarah can’t even _imagine_ achieving, she feels no shame in laughing, in reaching up to run a hand through her hair and admitting, “Not a bloody clue.”

 

“It’s all cool,” Cosima shoots back, free of judgement, hands splaying in the air. “We’ll just start from square one, alright?”

 

 

-

 

 

Cosima’s room is exactly what Sarah would expect it to be – a mix of ultra-cool tapestries on the walls, reclaimed-wood headboard, and a purple tribal pattern bedspread, contrasted against academic trophies, overflowing bookshelves, and hydroponic plants suspended from the ceiling. Somehow, Sarah thinks Cosima and Mrs. S would get along, and that’s probably why Mrs. S hasn’t called, hasn’t asked her where she is or when she’s coming home even though it’s late. She’d made sure to do her work to get her grades up, and no one bats at eye at the two of them spending time together even though she's no longer in danger of failing, although Felix can read her easily and Tony gives her an obnoxious thumbs-up as whenever the two of them catch her slinking out the door, invariably to head over to Cosima’s.

 

And so, with Cosima straddling her waist, her blood thrums, body singing since they started making out what feels like hours ago. Sarah cups the nape of her neck with one hand, urges Cosima closer at the same time that she arches and claims a kiss, feels Cosima smile into it, hips grinding against hers. She’s lost her shirt at some point and Cosima’s stockings are gone, skirt hiked up, and as they kiss Sarah runs a hand up a bare thigh, feels Cosima’s hands skim over her shoulders, her breasts, splay over her ribcage and slow as she reaches her waist.

 

The panic she’d assumed would be there is gone, the worry a vague memory, and as Cosima breaks their kiss and sits back up Sarah’s hand falls away, and she slips it under Cosima’s skirt, mirrors her other hand in grasping at her ass, grins lopsided as Cosima’s hand work at her thick belt. Going fast isn't what worries her. It's that before, looking in the mirror and critiquing her outfit, she’d wondered if the tight black boxer briefs were _too much_. But they’d been what she’d felt most comfortable in, most _sexy_ , and so she’s slipped on her jeans over them, pushed the worry away, finished getting ready, and left.

 

Cosima gets the belt undone, gives Sarah a self-satisfied look, and shimmies lower, settles on her stomach between Sarah’s thighs and pops the button of her jeans one-handed with amazing dexterity. And it’s a needless worry, because Cosima has never seemed to shy away from all the things everyone else has. "Those boxers look good on you,” Cosima comments, hooking a finger experimentally over the thick waistband that peeks above that of her jeans. Cosima's head dips, and Sarah closes her eyes at the touch of her lips against her stomach, at the brush of the end of her dreds against her skin as Cosima kisses her way lower, feels as much as hears Cosima say, “But they’d look even better on my floor.”

 

If it weren’t so hot, she’d laugh, and so Sarah splits the difference, lets out a sharp snort as she says, “Cos, that’s such a terrible line.”

 

Cosima looks up, nose scrunched. “Yet it’s working,” she teases, tugging soft as if to ask _is this okay_ , and Sarah squares her shoulders back against the bed, lifts her hips to help Cosima slide first her jeans and then the tight material down and off her legs before Cosima settles back between her thighs. “Right?”

 

Hell yes, it's working. Cosima's hand takes hers, guides her down to thread fingers in her ponytail with a cheeky grin, and just in case it’s not already abundantly clear, Sarah nods, tilts her hips, tugs at dreds as Cosima gives an experimental lave and just barely manages to gasp, “You’re damn right it is.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
